"Why so passionate, Vin—why so indignant?" his companion put in, glancing at him curiously.
"Because I say it is a shame—a monstrous shame," the young man said, with flaming eyes, "that anyone should be insulted so! Is it their fault that they have no friends, that they are unknown, that they are poor? To be wealthy is to be virtuous, of course; if you have a long balance at your bankers', you are above suspicion then; if you have house-boats, and four-in-hands, and gold plate, you're all right. I suppose," said he, altering his tone, "that it was on that very evening—the evening of her inspection—that my aunt was kind enough to talk over those two friends of mine with you, and tell you of all the portentous things she suspected of them. But I presume she did not repeat to you the very last words she used to me as she said good-night?"
"About what?"
"About Miss Bethune," said Vincent—though it cost him an indescribable effort to pronounce her name.
"Well, I believe she did," Lord Musselburgh admitted. "For she had just come away from hearing Miss Bethune sing some Canadian song or another; and she was very much struck; and she said she had confessed as much to you. Oh, more than that—I don't precisely remember the words. But really, Vin, when you come to think of it, you must acknowledge that there is not much guidance as to character, or antecedents, or any thing else, in the mere singing of a song. Mrs. Ellison, who is always posing as a callous woman of the world, is really very sympathetic and generous, and warm-hearted; and she was quite taken captive by the charm and simplicity of this Claire Fontaine—is that the name of it?—but at the same time I should not place too great a value—"
"I quite agree with you," the younger man said, interrupting without apology. "I place no more value on my aunt's acquittal and commendation than on her previous suspicions. And—and—if you don't mind, Musselburgh, I would rather not have the question discussed further, nor Miss Bethune's name mentioned in any way whatsoever."
"Oh, but remember I said nothing against her," Lord Musselburgh finally added, in perfect good humour. "How could I? I hope your new friends are all you think them; and as for the young lady, it is difficult to believe any harm of so refined and sweet a face. But I hope you won't concern yourself too much with them, Vin; you have other, and perhaps more serious, interests in life; and it seems to me that everything promises well for you. Why, at this moment, man, don't you know what ought to be occupying all your attention?"
"What?" his companion asked—perhaps glad enough to get away from that delicate topic.
"At least I know what I should be thinking of if I were in your shoes. I should be wondering how much space the editor of the Mendover Weekly Guardian was going to give me on Saturday morning next."
It was another editor whom Vincent had in his mind at that moment. As soon as he got back to London he wrote and despatched the following letter, which was addressed to "Hugh Anstruther, Esq., Western Scotsman Office, New York, U.S.A."